The Remains of the Day
by Orison
Summary: A short story about love and friendship after the events of 10x07 and 10x11.


**The Remains of the Day**

A/N: This started out as a coda for episode 10x07, and then veered off in a different direction once 10x11 aired. The revelations that a) Wo Fat had a wife and b) Danny will keep living in Steve's house were too good to be ignored. I added bits and pieces of past and future episodes, used some of Alex's own words to describe Steve and Doris' relationship, and mixed everything together.

The result is, once again, a story about Steve and Danny always being there for each other.

* * *

_The way to love someone is to lightly run your fingers _

_over that person_'_s soul until you find a crack, _

_and then gently pour your love into that crack._

_\- K. Miller_

* * *

It was always the little things that sent him reeling.

A random thought, a sound or a smell. A memory or a wish.

He'd start his day, go about his business thinking his mourning period was finally over, until something triggered a reaction and he found himself struggling for breath or needing to hide, away from prying eyes, until his heart rate slowed down and the panic receded.

Then there were the nightmares.

Raw, unsettling images replaying themselves in his head, different scenarios leading to the same, tragic outcome.

Blood spilling out, deep red on stark white.

A hand, zipping up a body bag.

His mother pointing a gun at him.

'_That's how this ends? Huh? You're gonna kill me now? … Why don't you go ahead? Go ahead and pull that trigger. Confirm my instincts.'_

In his dreams, Doris always did. Looking at him straight in the eyes, no remorse or even a hint of compassion on her face.

And Steve would bolt awake, feeling a sickening pressure constricting his chest, desperate to get out of bed. He'd go downstairs, walking on unsteady legs, to find Danny already up and waiting, hands casually tucked inside his sweats pockets or holding a mug of tea he had made especially for him.

Never saying a word until Steve did.

Always there to offer support, even when Steve pushed him away.

* * *

"I wanna be alone."

"Yeah, well, that's not happening, so..."

Danny crossed his arms over his chest, perfecting his relaxed but decisive stance so that his friend would get the hint and realize he wasn't going anywhere.

This was the reason he had moved in, the motive that had prompted him to show up at Steve's door with a lame excuse about mold in his apartment. While he could keep an eye on him during the day, the dark circles under his partner's eyes and the weary, bone-tired demeanor he did his best to hide were telltale signs that he was barely sleeping at night. The rest of his team might have missed it, but Danny hadn't. So he had packed his bags and agreed to share the couch with a dog knowing that, whether he realized it or not, it was exactly what Steve needed.

Since then, he had stayed awake almost every night, attentive to every sound, waiting for the inevitable. And the nightmares had come as predicted, in a painful routine that had started plaguing Steve even before his mother's death.

Laying in the dark against instincts that screamed at him to run upstairs, Danny would listen to his friend's feet shuffling across the bedroom, to the sound of the water running and the creak of the door opening until Steve's tired, grief-stricken frame eventually walked down the stairs.

Sometimes he'd wait, eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Other times he rose from the couch and made tea for both. No questions asked, no thanks expected, ready to do it for as long as Steve needed it.

Some days were harder, but Danny never wavered.

Just like tonight.

Steve lowered his gaze and deflated, looking every bit as weary and emotionally exhausted as Danny had ever seen him.

He walked over to the couch and all but dropped on it, resting his head between his hands.

"I keep having the same nightmare. Doris is pointing a gun at me, and she pulls the trigger." He left out the part where he lay bleeding on the floor, looking at her in bewildered disbelief while she stared down at him and told him that it was all his fault.

He had a hard time coming to terms with it himself.

Danny nodded, because there really wasn't anything he could say to that. He knew there was a lot Steve hadn't told him about the two months he had spent in Colombia, and wondered if his nightmares were based on real-life events or just figments of his imagination.

Those months had been the worst of his life. Getting through day after day with no news, wondering if he was dead or alive, flashing back to Afghanistan and North Korea where Steve had almost died had eaten away at him, to the point where even his son had started worrying about him.

One day while running errands with him, he had followed Charlie to a plant nursery, his gaze landing on a row of bonsais carefully lined up onto a shelf. The owner, an old Japanese man with dark, inquisitive eyes, had taken one look at him and immediately selected one of the trees, handing it to him and insisting that it would soothe his soul. Danny had accepted it without question, following his instructions and tending to it when the nightmares kept him awake.

The tree was still there, growing strong and steady, and Danny was considering giving it to Steve for therapeutic purpose.

"She called me selfish, you know," the former SEAL continued, looking down at his feet. "Said I should stop thinking about myself and focus on her loss instead."

Danny swallowed hard, resisting the urge to say out loud exactly what he thought. If the woman wasn't dead, he would've punched her in the face for such a bold, unfair statement. Everybody knew Steve was the opposite of selfish. The man put everyone's lives ahead of his on a daily basis. How dare she call him that? His own mother, for God's sake. The only person who was supposed to love him unconditionally and probably never did.

"You know that's not true," he said as he sat down beside him, hoping it would sink into his traumatized brain and accepted as fact.

Steve gave him the slightest nod, not entirely believing it. He searched Danny's eyes and held his gaze, as if it would give him the courage to admit what was tearing him up inside. "I just wanted her to love me, Danny…"

Heart breaking into a thousand pieces at the candid admission, Danny moved closer and put a reassuring hand on his friend's knee. "She did love you, Steve. In her own way. I don't condone her actions, but she did what she did because she wanted to do right by you and Mary, set you guys up financially so that you wouldn't have to worry about anything."

A bank account full of blood money would've never made up for all the years they'd lost and the love she didn't give them, but Danny wasn't going to tell him that.

"She could've walked away from it. I offered to help, get her out of there, but she said no." Steve's left hand rose to touch his temple, fingers absently tracing the scar from where her pistol had hit him. "Why did she refuse my help?"

Suddenly, Danny had the distinct feeling that something other than Doris' death, as painful as that had been, must've affected him back in Mexico.

"What happened down there, Steve?"

Steve wiped a hand over his face.

_My mother hit me with her own gun and threatened to kill me._

"Doesn't matter."

"Steve…"

He sighed, closing his eyes. It was difficult to admit it to someone like Danny, who had grown up in a family so different from his own, but he knew his friend wasn't going to let go until he had his answers.

"It really happened."

"What?"

"Doris pointing her gun at me."

Of all the things he had imagined, the revelation of a mother even entertaining the idea of harming her son was something Danny could not have anticipated. He sat up straight, eyes wide.

"She did _what_?"

"She didn't really mean it," Steve immediately added. "She was scared, and—" he stopped, making a gesture with his hand as if realizing his own naivety for trying to justify the woman's behavior to the only person who actually gave a damn about him.

As much as he had idolized the idea of a mother Doris never really represented, reality had always slapped him in the face and she had proved to be her true, toxic self until the end. Unavailable, physically and emotionally distant, prone to make promises she never kept.

"She said I'm arrogant. As if… everything I've gone through in my life was a walk in the park compared to what she'd had to endure and sacrifice for the agency."

His breath hitched, his voice faltered.

"My own mother threatened to kill me. How fucked up is that?"

Danny's fists curled even tighter at his sides, knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth to say something, only to realize Steve wasn't done talking.

"Everything that's happened to me... to us as a family, including the murder of my father, is a direct result of the decisions she's made."

_So why am I hurting this much? _was the unspoken question Steve didn't dare ask. Since learning of her 'fake death' and her commitment to the CIA at the expense of her family, he had been filled with conflicting emotions. Love, from missing his mom most of his life; mistrust, for the lies she'd told them; resentment, for her decision to abandon them and never look back. The last two usually crushed the first, though the decision to find her after Agent Coen's visit had been an easy one to make.

He had genuinely thought that he could bring her home, but his hopes had crashed against a wall of bitterness and denial.

And yet he could still feel her hand on his cheek, her gaze on him as she tried to speak through the blood filling her lungs.

The loss as her fingers slid away from his face, leaving streaks of blood he hadn't been able to really wash away.

'_I love you so much. I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry…' _

He shook his head, willing the images away.

Danny looped one arm around his shoulders. "Look, I shouldn't even have to tell you this, but you're not alone. There's a lot of other people who love you and care about you."

"I know," Steve sighed. "Thanks for being here, Danny."

"You're welcome. It's gonna get better, man, I promise."

Steve hoped it was true.

Doris McGarrett had been the source of all the drive in his life.

The heartache she'd caused, the need to make up for something that wasn't there, had given him the strength to work on becoming the best man, the best SEAL he could be, to do everything at the highest level. The black hole her absence had left had been his soft spot ever since the cops showed up at his door when he was sixteen, and he'd had to learn how to deal with it in a way that would keep him safe. Sane.

Now, he was afraid that black hole would swallow him whole.

* * *

A week had come and gone, fake mold had turned into a real sewage problem and Danny stayed, taking a little more space every day and adding personal touches to the house as if he belonged there.

He did, of course. Had had free reign over it since the beginning of their partnership.

Steve was grateful for his presence and constant support, even when he didn't show it.

What he hadn't figured out yet was that Danny needed to be there as much as he needed him around.

* * *

The crashing noise that penetrated Steve's slumber was loud enough to wake him from his restless sleep.

He jerked awake, pushing himself up on his hands as he looked around the dark room. Realizing where he was, he eased back down to the pillow and laid on his back, blinking.

It took him a moment to realize that the reason he had woken up this time wasn't a nightmare.

His heart wasn't racing.

His skin wasn't sweaty.

He stilled, listening for movement, muscles tense and ready for action.

A rustling sound coming from downstairs confirmed that he had indeed heard something, and his hand automatically reached for the nightstand drawer where he kept his gun before he remembered about Danny sleeping in Junior's room since the young man had been called up from the reserves.

Tossing the covers aside, Steve jumped to his feet. Decades of training and countless house invasions had taught him to always prepare for the worst, so he grabbed his handgun and followed the voice in his head telling him to check and make sure everything was okay.

Danny was the only one he had left now, besides a sister and a niece he was lucky to see a few times a year. He could and would _not_ risk losing him, whatever it took.

With stealth movements that would've made his SEAL instructors proud, he carefully made his way down the stairs and to the kitchen to find his friend standing by the counter, staring at the broken pieces of his favorite Navy mug resting in his palm.

Sighing in relief, Steve lowered his gun, thumbing the safety back and placing it on top of the fridge.

Danny looked up, sensing his arrival, a mortified expression on his face.

"I'll... I'll get you another one."

Without saying a word, Steve cupped his hands over Danny's and guided them towards the sink to dump the porcelain remains. "You okay?"

Danny lowered his gaze.

_No_.

"I, uh… was holding it when I fell asleep and..."

He didn't need to say more. Steve understood.

Nightmares.

"I'm really sorry, man. You've had that mug for as long as I've known you…"

Steve's fingers curled around his friend's hands, inspecting them to see if he'd cut himself. "I don't care about the mug, Danny."

Satisfied that there was no blood or any kind of wound he needed to worry about, he grabbed two water bottles from the fridge and motioned for the other man to follow him outside.

The darkness of the night hindered their sight but the path was so familiar their steps never faltered.

"Did I wake you?" Danny asked as they each took their seat in the Adirondack chairs by the beach.

"No. No, you didn't," Steve lied, breathing in the warm, salty air. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

Steve nodded and took a sip of his water.

The scent of the ocean filled his nostrils and he closed his eyes, listening to the gentle lap of the waves against the shore and letting the breeze anchor him to the here and now, to the place where he had always felt the happiest.

"Was it Rachel?" he asked a few minutes later. Danny had been moody lately, feeling down and declining any attempt to socialize that didn't involve just the two of them, so he assumed things with his ex-wife weren't going as planned.

Danny shook his head. "No. I'm over stressing about her. It was you. I was too late and she, uh… she killed you."

Steve's brow furrowed for a moment, then realization dawned.

Dread knotted his stomach at the thought of their last nemesis.

Daiyu Mei.

Wo Fat's wife.

The name sent a shiver down his spine.

Even from beyond the grave, the man managed to make his life miserable.

"You don't need to worry about me," he said softly.

Still rattled by the vivid images of his dream, Danny gave him a disbelieving stare. "How many times have we been through this, huh? How many times?" His voice rose, anger they both knew wasn't directed at Steve lacing his words. "And now here comes this woman we knew nothing about, this woman that years of intel on that son of a bitch have failed to uncover, and what does she do? She waltzes into a crime scene, kills a bunch of people and then purposefully leaves one alive to send you a message." He raked a hand through his hair, taming the long blond strands that were falling over his face. "I can't stop thinking she's the one behind the bomb in your garage. And, she knew where to find Junior, which means she's got eyes on all of us so yeah, I worry about you. Someone has to."

The last sentence was spoken without annoyance or resentment, only born out of the deep-rooted fear of losing his best friend.

"She's just as dangerous as he was, maybe even more, and that's saying a lot because Wo Fat did things to you and… and messed with your head like no one else has ever done."

Steve swallowed tightly, trying to control his breathing. He was keenly aware of all of that, unsure of how to deal with yet more bad news piling up on his already weakened shoulders. The woman was meticulous, methodical, ruthless. She had come out of the shadows, leading them exactly where she wanted them to be, and that was just the beginning.

He pursed his lips, wringing his hands into his lap.

"I'm tired, man," Danny continued, leaning back into his seat with a heavy sigh as if to emphasize his point. "I'm tired of being afraid, tired of psychopaths threatening the people I love." He looked up to the sky, to the thousands of stars shining in the night. It still amazed him how many of them were visible when there were no lights around.

The first time he had shown Grace, they were sitting outside Stan's million-dollar house, waving goodbye to the man's Mercedes as it went through the front gate and disappeared from sight. Feeling disappointed and a failure of a father for not being able to provide even half of the things Stan's money could buy, Danny had hugged his daughter and told her that while mommy enjoyed the Opera, they were going to experience something a lot more beautiful, something special, just for the two of them. So they'd laid on the grass and looked at the stars until Grace had fallen asleep with her head on his chest and his frustration had melted away.

Now his daughter was in college, he and Rachel were back to being just friends, and the only person he could count on the whole damn island was Steve, always by his side and ready to provide him the strength and comfort he needed. In their own dysfunctional way they were a family, bonded together by love and resilience and helping through each other's nightmares.

"I know this is not what you needed to hear. I mean, I should be the one comforting you. That was the whole point of me living at your place, right? So I apologize for that. And for breaking your favorite mug."

"You can buy me another one," Steve deadpanned, seemingly unfazed, though it always warmed his heart to know that Danny cared. "Also, while you're at it, start taking the chore wheel seriously. If you're gonna keep living here you've got to do your part, especially now that Junior's not around."

The tacit affirmation that he was welcome to stay for as long as he wanted wasn't lost on Danny, who shrugged it off as if his own heart wasn't leaping with gratitude. "You're a neat freak, you know that?"

A faint smile touched their lips but neither of them said anything after that.

They sat in silence, eyes closed, listening to the sound of each other's breathing.

"This is what we do, Danny," Steve said after mulling over his friend's words for a while. "This is who we are. Even with all the heartache and pain, with everything this job has taken from me, I wouldn't want to do anything else."

Danny nodded. Neither would he. He had tried to give himself a hobby, an escape plan that would ease him into retirement, only to realize it wasn't really what he wanted.

'_I'd rather die from a bullet than from the stress of running this place,' _he'd admitted after hearing his best friend wasn't going to walk away from what he loved to run a restaurant. It was code for _'It's not worth it if you're not around'. _

Kind of ironic howthe man who had turned his life upside down was also the one he couldn't live without.

His hand reached out to squeeze Steve's thigh and then stayed there, lingering on the other man's bare skin as he spoke. "I just don't want anything to happen to you."

The emotions Steve had been concealing to focus on his friend's pain began to slowly leak out. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, tried to speak against a suddenly parched throat. "I love you too, buddy. We're gonna be okay."

They both knew it wasn't a promise he could make but just for that night, under a moon so big and stars so bright, Danny chose to believe him.

"You hungry? I can make pancakes."

"At four in the morning?"

"At four in the morning, yeah. Why not?"

Steve never turned down Danny's pancakes. He had learned cooking was one of the ways the Williamses expressed their love and over the years, understood he was allowed to give himself a break and enjoy what made him happy. "Alright," he agreed. "I'll start the coffee."

With one last look at the ocean and the moon casting its silver light over it, the two friends got up and made their way back inside.

Two bodies moving in sync.

Two broken souls shaped into one.

At the end of the day, and for as long as they could, they were always going to have each other.

THE END


End file.
